


Work the Case

by NuclearWaste



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: ACAB but this au practically writes itself, Alternate Universe, Found Family, Gen, Swearing, basically everyone works at a police precinct, canon relationships are mentioned but stay in the background, no beta we die like ben, no one's related in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearWaste/pseuds/NuclearWaste
Summary: Diego isn't thrilled to respond to a late-night case, especially not with Luther, but good police work sometimes requires sacrifices. When they find a bloody body and a boy without a name, well, Diego knows he won't be getting much rest any time soon. The murder of Reginald Hargreeves is turning out to be anything but simple.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 135





	1. Case Opened

Diego knows nobody expected him to be a cop. He prefers leather over the ill-fitting uniform, has a huge problem with authority, and he’s not pale as printer paper. But Diego wanted to help people, damnit, and Mom was always saying he should trust in his abilities more, so he thought, fuck it. He took the classes, did the training, applied himself, and made detective.

And the force would be worse off without him. He might wuss out on the junkie cases (because fuck needles) and he could stand to be a little more consistent with his paperwork, but when things really get down to it, everybody knows Diego’s as solid as a brick wall. He doesn’t flinch at the messier, uglier cases. He’s got perfect aim, but he’s never shot to kill. He doesn’t stop until he gets answers, even if that means putting in unpaid overtime on a technically closed case. So simply put, the precinct knows that he’s a damn good cop.

Which means it’s not weird for the occasional coworker to seek him out for a particular case or ask him to look over some files or just pick his brain for a few minutes. But those people are normally Lupo or a very disgruntled Patch. Not  **Luther.** So it takes him completely off-guard when the Ape-Man himself walks over to Diego’s desk and says, "We've got a body on Central."

"Okay?" Diego replies, barely looking up from his paperwork. Why was Luther talking to him about it? Yeah, he's been checking in with Golden Boy this week, but that's just because Patch is on vacation. They aren't suddenly partners or anything - it was just protocol to make sure someone knew what you were up to. But right now, with two hours worth of files to finish in thirty minutes, the procedure can screw off. Diego would like to spend one night this week actually in his bed, not at his desk, okay?

Luther didn't take the response as the dismissal it was. "So I need you to come with me."

"Why?" Diego snaps. "Can't you go with your girlfriend? I’m kinda busy here." He gestures at the papers he'd been scribbling on.

To his credit, Luther doesn't start with his whole spiel about how he isn't dating Allison, she's still reeling from her divorce and trying to make things right by her ex and their daughter, and Diego really should stop going around saying that sort of stuff. Instead, Golden Boy shifts his weight and stance before saying, "Well, from what I hear, it's pretty … messed up."

Aaand that explains it. Blood puddles tend to kill any hint of romance, not that Allison really likes violence anyways. She normally sticks around for talking to witnesses and interrogations, and she’s ungodly good at both so nobody says a word about the oddness of it all. Meanwhile, Diego’s not all for the gorey cases (because he’s not messed up in the head, thank you very much), but he can handle most stuff that they come across. Maybe it’s because Mom was a nurse or all the accidents that come from years of boxing and martial arts practice, but only needles can make him feel all dizzy and woozy. And ever since Patch had that near death-scare last year, everyone in the precinct learned that Diego can stomach a shitton of blood.

Diego rises to his feet slowly. Just because Luther had convinced him didn't mean A) he had to make this easy on him or B) Diego wasn't going to milk the overtime. God, he had been sitting for too long - his muscles are far too stiff. He pops his shoulders, much to Luther's displeasure. "Alright," Diego declares finally, "but I drive, Ape-Man."

……

Luther did a bit of briefing in the car - a local officer was driving home and heard a commotion inside one of the houses, found the body almost immediately - but it left a lot to be desired. Whatever report they got must’ve been lacking. Diego can’t imagine Luther would skimp on the details. The drive is far too quiet and dark, but at least Ape-Man doesn’t try to make any small talk, so there’s that small blessing.

When they arrive on the scene, the place is already sectioned off from the rest of the street. A quick chat with the first responder reveals that he had taped off the room where the body was, but hadn't conducted a full search of the house yet. Which, was fair considering it was at least three floors, judging from its exterior, and the one unlucky cop on duty was doing his damnedest to secure the exits.

That doesn’t stop Diego from shooting an eye roll at Luther though. Playing hide-and-seek with the killer, assuming they hadn’t slipped away, would take more time and energy than he was prepared to give. 

"Do you know who lives here?" Luther asks, like a mature adult who’s above trading annoyed glances with coworkers.

"A Mister Reginald Hargreaves. No relatives, no pets - quite the recluse if local chatter is to be believed." 

Luther doesn't roll his eyes but in fairness he doesn't have to. His ugly mug perfectly conveys    
Ah fuck,” a sentiment Diego silently shares. If a relative or friend is the killer, talking and calming them down would be a decent strategy. Such people are usually overwhelmed by the situation but in an internally-freaking-the-fuck-out way, not I’m-gonna-try-to-kill-anyone-I-see way. Going in guns ablazing would be stupid in that situation, and nine times out of ten, they’d either cooperate or bolt but, regardless, they wouldn’t be a threat to the larger public. But with no close family or friends, that meant they had zero clue what to expect, meaning there was no game plan. The two of them could be walking in on a would-be serial killer for all they knew.

Diego claps the cop on the shoulder. "Awesome, Officer Cheddar, we'll take it from here "

The duo enter the house and all Diego can think is that it reeks of old money. Fancy pretentious clock right by the door. Some kind of wooden table that’s oak or some shit, with a crystal bowl for key rings and loose change or whatever the rich person equivalent of those are. The corridor itself feels stuffy and important like a museum exhibit with its plethora of big doors. The only thing marring the illusion is the blood on the ajar door to the left. The crime scene, judging by the red tape. Diego takes a peek inside.

"Shit."

Even from this distance, he could tell it was a mess. A broken bookcase with its contents scattered everywhere. A broken window letting in the cool night air, its shards reflecting the moonlight. The worst is easily what little he could make out of the body. His eyes immediately go to the broken windpipe that looked like it was torn clean off the unfortunate bastard's throat. God, the big congealed crimson puddle by what remained of the man's throat is … disturbing, to say the least.

Let it be said that for all their arguing, Diego doesn't hesitate to hold his arm in front of Luther and warn, "You don't wanna look." Even though Ape-Man easily could look over Diego's shoulder thanks to his freakish height, the effort had been made. It's not his fault Luther doesn't immediately listen.

"Let's leave it for forensics," Luther says shakily after a long moment. "We need to search the place."

The two don't exchange another word as they search the house. Normally, Diego would've  gotten on Luther's nerves  made small talk or  ditched him  struck out on his own, but he didn't even think of it. He isn't heartless enough to leave the big softie on his own. Not after what they’d seen. 

Though as the searching drags on, Diego wonders if maybe he should’ve. The place didn’t look like a modern mansion, but it took up enough space. And trudging through every room was a chore. Not to mention that the more he sees of the place, the more he gets confused. Hargreeves is a recluse, right? Tons of cash and probably a bit screwy. The kitchen kinda fits that image: it looks straight out of the ‘60s, and hey, if you have the money and are sentimental, why not? But the dining room is the kind you entertain crowds in, with a lovely bar and a giant ass banquet table. So that just doesn’t mesh. Then there’s the handful of bedrooms that scream “guest room” with their spare furniture and complete lack of personal touches. There’s a room that’s decorated like a hunter’s lodge, creepy stuffed animal trophies on every inch of wall. Or the half dozen labs that look identical, all pristine and probably perfectly sanitized. All and all, the slow going combined with this repeating pattern of rooms makes Diego feel a bit uneasy. Or maybe it’s the syringe he spotted on the countertop that had him on edge. 

"How many fucking labs does one guy need?" Diego curses from the doorframe. Let Luther comb the room - he sure as hell but isn't gonna go anywhere near that table full of needles. 

"Doesn't matter. We still gotta search, Diego," Luther calls back. "The killer could be inside." Luther lowers his gun and flashlight, seemingly satisfied with the room sweep. "Besides, protocol's protocol."

"Protocol my ass." If Diego tracks Luther's movement, he could almost forget the box of needles three feet away. Almost. "The killer probably bolted through the window in the study. Cheddar would've made a lot of noise getting the front door open - plenty of warning. Or, better yet, the sound that got his attention in the first place was the window breaking as the perp fled."

He could see the gears turning in Luther's head. "That's … probably true. But we could still find clues here."

"Yeah, we're learning a lot, like for all this space Reggie owned the same four rooms six times over. Very insightful."

Luther sighs as he trudges back to the door. He fixes Diego a pleading stare. "We're almost done, okay. Can we just do things by the book and check out the basement? Then we can both call it quits for the night."

"Fine. But as self-appointed leader, you're in charge of the report." 

……

The basement door is rather unassuming, but mentally, Diego is preparing himself to find some creepy shit down there. If Patch was here, he would've made her guess whether Reggie had a torture chamber or sex dungeon. Diego's money is on torture chamber - dude owned way too many medical and chemistry supplies to be into kinky over unethical shit.

Luther wouldn't appreciate the gamble though, so Diego just readies his gun and flashlight before asking, "Ready?" Off the big oaf's nod, he opens the door.

Unlike any of the other rooms, Diego couldn't find a light switch by the entrance. The glow from the flashlights bounces off big metal bookcases - there must be dozens of them, reflecting the light off each other in a headache-inducing way. Diego quickly swerves his light over to the left. The tattered throw blanket, although out of place on the floor, is a welcome reprieve. There’s writing on the wall above it. A lot of writing - no, equations. Scrawled all over the brick exterior. Damn.

"Luther," Diego whispers. "This Reginald dude must've been insane. " He tries to find the starting point among the writings, but god, it’s impossible. "This is some Hollywood level psycho stuff."

When he doesn't get an immediate response, Diego stiffens. There was no way Luther could've gotten taken out without him hearing. But Luther would also never miss a chance at arguing with him either. Diego spun around, trying to pinpoint his fellow detective in the dim light.

"Seriously, Luther?" The words are already out his mouth, not like anything else would’ve been as fitting for the current sight. Luther had his foot caught on some open jar and was currently trying to shake it off.

The bumbling giant huffs before holstering his weapon and light, crouching down and making use of Diego’s flashlight. Ape-Man furiously pulls off the jar and hucks it behind him. "I wasn't exactly expecting freakin peanut butter to be in here," Luther grits out. He shakes some excess gunk off his shoe and smears it on the bare stone floor. "Perfect, this'll never come out."

Diego holds back a chuckle, though a grin slips by. "Nah man, it's a good thing. Your shoes suck." Diego starts inching forward to the rows of bookcases. Judging from the thud and squelch, Luther is following close behind.

"What's wrong with my shoes?" Yep, Luther's nasty breath is right on his neck, practically.

"They're old and  _ they smell _ ." Diego glances toward his unoccupied left. There wasn't an inch of shelf uncovered.  _ History of the World, Volume I. Calculus: Single Variable, Third Edition. Fundamentals of Physics. _ Hargreeves must be fun at parties.

" _ They don't smell _ !" Diego didn't need to look to know Luther's face is all scrunched up in indignation like a wrinkled paper towel. So he checks between the rows of bookcases instead. They’re spaced far enough apart for a man to comfortably walk through - well, if he isn't built like Luther, though Golden Boy could probably squeeze if he tried. But there isn't anyone in this row. Just a few opened books on the floor.

"They totally do," Diego eggs on, keeping pace with Luther's slight speed increase. "Allison even said so to Lupo last week."

" _ She didn't. _ " The _ thud  _ of his feet against the stone floor. "Did she?"

Diego chuckles. "Man, you make it too easy to mess with you." Diego ducks behind the last bookcase - nothing. Sweet. Diego turns and is met only with Luther's back. "Alright, we searched the basement, can we go now?"

Luther's voice is a low whisper. "Not yet."

Diego mentally curses, trudging up to Luther's side. Of course the big oaf is blocking the row. "Why not," Diego whispers back, punctuating his question with a shove to the nearest arm. Rather than answer, Luther moves over and lets Diego see for himself.

At the end of the row is a little boy. With his back to the wall, the kid is reading through a textbook like he doesn't have a care in the world. He couldn't have been older than ten or eleven, far too small, but he’s dressed in some kind of prestigious private school uniform - blazer, sweater, tie, dress shirt, dress shorts, knee socks, dress shoes. There is a ratty piece of fabric sticking out from one of his pockets. Any one of these details on its own would've been noteworthy, but the two detectives could only focus on one particularity:

The boy's mouth, nose, and hands are stained with crimson blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, rewatching tua to find names for background characters: The cop Allison talks to can’t be Captain Cheddar? I must’ve heard wrong, lemme just look at that badge he’s got on and… well, dang.


	2. The Boy

Diego doesn't know how long they stood there, just staring at the child. It had to have been a few good minutes until Luther breaks the silence, lowering his flashlight and firearm.

"Hey, kid," he says, in perhaps the most awkward voice Diego had ever heard the man use, "we need you to come with us."

The boy doesn't startle at the noise - he doesn't react at all. "Can't," he replies, still looking at his book. The battery on Diego's flashlight must be dying, because there's no way the words _Quantum Physics_ is actually part of the book's title. 

The boy's tone is even, doesn't betray a hint of hurt, making Diego's stomach turn. That blood has to be the kid's. No other explanation. "Did you hurt your legs, that why?" Luther shoots him a Look, silently questioning his reasoning. He even points with his flashlight at the boy's uninjured bare knees. Diego just gestures furiously with his free hand (he remembered fire arm safety, thank you very much, Patch), trying to fully convey his current understanding of the situation, which is “ _what the fuck about any of this makes sense._ ”

"Dad said I can't go anywhere until I finish my readings," the boy says into the book. He turns the page, dyeing its edge red.

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about that," Diego shoots back, earning another Look from Luther, and okay, maybe Diego could've chosen his words more carefully. Then again, the boy only pauses for a second before bringing the book closer to his face. So, no harm done, really.

Luther speaks up. "What's your name?"

"Five."

This time the two detectives share a Look between themselves. Diego stares straight at the kid, donning a smile that could cut through any bullshit. "No, it's not."

The boy looks up at that. His little eyes are deadly serious as he says slowly, "My _name_ is _Five_." And holy shit, he’s actually trying to _stare him down_. No way is Diego going with this kid’s nonsense now.

Luckily, Luther steps in before Diego could throw hands with an eight year old. "Okay," he says. "Do you live here, Five?"

The boy, the self-proclaimed Five, settles at Luther's use of his name. Well, he lets his eyes return to his book anyhow. "Obviously."

"Does anyone else live here?"

Five pauses. Maybe to find a stopping point in his book, maybe to wonder why two strangers are in his house. Considering how the child digs through the shelves for a bookmark and snaps the pages closed, probably the former. He stands up and shelves the textbook - _Quantum Physics and Modern Quantum Mechanics_ \- as he speaks, "Just me and Dad." He picks up a new volume, something with the words _Particles_ and _Science_ in it. Cradling the book to his chest, he slowly sits back down and balances the reading on his knees. 

"That's great, kid-" the boy's head snap up, showing his full frown "-cuz we just talked to him-" Luther's head snap up, showing his full frustrations "-and got you out of your homework for today."

The frown doesn't leave Five's face as he scrutinizes Diego's own expression. "My dad, Reginald Hargreeves, said that?" He questions evenly. If Diego didn’t know any better, it sounds like the kid was giving him an easy out. But nothing about the boy’s body language betrays a hint of fight or flight, so it’s probably just Diego’s brain clocking in overtime.

"Yeah, you're welcome, by the way," Diego shoots back with an easy smile. His grins worked on his co-workers all the time, maybe it'd work on kids. For good measure, he pulls out his police badge and flashes it to the boy. "We're cops and we need you to come with us for a little bit, okay?"

It takes another few seconds for Five's frown to fade to a more neutral line. "Okay," he finally says, picking up the book and standing. "Can I put this back first?"

Diego nods. As the boy turns to shelve the volume, Luther and Diego holster their guns in record time. They somehow manage to fit even a whispered argument in.

"You can't just-"

"He wasn't listening-"

"That doesn't mean-"

"Don't tell me what to-"

As soon as they heard the boy's footsteps though, they quieted. Diego backs off, letting Luther awkwardly stand half-in, half-out of the row to meet the difficult kid. Some people had already spent far too long combing the house in the name of "evidence" to put up with any games. Diego could listen to Luther's ramblings from a distance and pretend he was already halfway home.

"You ready to-" Cut off by a metal _thud_ and a groan. _Shit._

Diego is expecting to see that the brat had stumbled backward into the bookcase with Luther hovering over him, trying to apologize. Or maybe the squirt had gotten suspicious and was wrestling ineffectively with a bodybuilder in his thirties. 

But that isn't what Diego saw.

Instead, one of the bookcases is on top of Luther. The heavy metal is half-burying him as the oaf struggles to keep his standing. The kid's tie is around the detective's throat and tied off on part of the bookcase, forcing Luther to follow the furniture's descent or risk choking himself out. Still, Ape-Man isn't in any immediate danger, so Diego instead focuses on the boy crawling on the opposite side of the room. They make eye contact and the kid seamlessly springs up into a sprint.

Diego doesn't have time to curse as he takes off after the boy. He keeps his distance though, beelining for the door. It was the only exit, and the kid already has a massive headstart. _Shit._ Diego reaches for one of the knives on his belt. Not ideal, but no way was he drawing a gun on the kid. He takes aim for the kid’s shoe, and like always, hits his target. The boy fumbles to an unexpected stop but manages to prevent himself from face-planting. Diego, meanwhile, takes advantage of the situation and reaches the door, cutting off the only exit.

"Hey, there," Diego grins, all malice this time. "I get that Luther can be annoying, but attacking cops isn't the brightest decision."

The kid, rather than trying to remove the knife, had already chosen to forgo his shoe. "You're kidnappers," he says, backing off from Diego. "And like _hell_ I'm going anywhere with you." The boy's footsteps are softer now. Without the chatter, Diego loses track of the squirt in all the darkness. Instinctually, he takes a step backwards to get a better view and nearly collides with the door for his efforts.

Diego feels for his flashlight - nothing. He could've sworn he left it in his back pocket. Did it fall out during his sprint? Never mind, he has to focus on de-escalating the situation. Get the kid to calm down. "We _are_ cops, kid. And you're gonna have to come with us sooner or later. Let’s talk this out. We both know this is the only exit."

"I know." 

Diego feels breath on his neck, but before he could question or react, something metal - his flashlight, or Luther's maybe? - is connecting with his head. Thank God the kid couldn't put much force behind it. If Diego had been fighting against his usual suspects, he'd be out cold. As it is, he’s already seeing stars. 

He feels scratchy fabric encase his head and fuck it, he needs to start fighting back now, moral dilemma of wailing on a child be damned. One of his knees finds purchase, and he takes the distraction to flip the blanket off his face. The kid punches him in the stomach, once, twice. Diego catches the third hit, stretching the incoming arm out too far to be pleasant. He ignores the kid's cry and uses the momentum to pin his face against the wall.

"Okay, kid, you ready to calm down now?"

"Fuck off."

Diego whistles. "Alright, I can wait." He turns his head back to the bookcases. "You good over there, Monkey Man?"

A crash of metal. "Yeah." A heavy _thud_ . "Just ah," several smaller _thwaps_ , maybe caused by books? "One second."

It takes far longer than that for Luther to noisily make his way over. The kid is still squirming against the wall, trying to work his way out of Diego's hold, although his fidgeting is getting less frequent and aggressive. 

"You ready now, little man?"

" _N_ _o_ ," punctuated by a nice kick to Diego's shin. Luckily, he only lets loose a startled cry, not the gremlin he’s holding.

Luther frowns at his side. "We should cuff him."

"Holy shit, Luther. He's a kid." Diego would be lying if he said he didn't want to, but still. This is a literal child.

"I can see that Diego." He sighs. "But he's also presenting a danger to us and himself, and I'd prefer to cuff him than get into another fight and have to hurt him."

Damn it, why did Luther's idea have to make sense? Diego huffs, but he doesn't stop Luther from invading his space and reaching for the kid. Though a child is no match for two adults, especially when he’s already half restrained, that didn’t stop the boy from thrashing his limbs every which way. Several strings of curses from all parties later, Luther finally manages to snap the second cuff onto the boy’s wrist. Diego lets go of his grip and lets the boy back off the wall. The kid’s posture is of a man defeated, but Diego doesn't trust the glint in his eyes.

Luther puts his hands out, placatingly. How anyone with as much muscle as him could do that, Diego wouldn’t know. “Five, we’re going to walk out of here and go to the station. You need to work with us, for just a little while.”

The kid snorts, causing the congealing blood by his nose to distort. He smiles, showing off a few bloody teeth. “Sure,” he slurs in the least sincere tone possible. Diego frowns - maybe squishing the kid’s face against a brick wall wasn’t the smartest move. Hopefully, he hadn’t done too much damage to the kid’s teeth or jaw.

Diego catches Luther mirroring his own frustration. “So much for a quick night,” he mutters.


	3. The Interrogation

"Name," Diego snaps impatiently.

"I _told_ you, it's _Five._ _Five Hargreeves_." 

Diego resists the ever-growing temptation to scream. He should've ditched to grab files and let Luther stay here instead. Sure, paperwork sucked and Golden Boy probably had the nitty-gritty boring task down to an art, but it had to be better than talking circles with the little gremlin. And with Luther gone, Diego doesn't even have someone to silently bitch to about this whole infuriating situation. So he grits his teeth and tries to get this kid to give up whatever game he was playing.

"Okay, I'll break down the problems with your statement again. One, " Diego sticks out his index finger, “Reginald Hargreeves, the man you claim is your father, has no kids. No living relatives actually.” Diego lets that point sink in before stretching his middle finger, “Two, there’s no one registered in this city, let alone state, with the name Five because it isn't a name any sane individual would choose for their kid. Which all adds up to three,” he gestures emphatically with his fingers, “Five Hargreeves doesn’t exist.”

Diego sinks back lazily in his seat, watching the stoic boy in front of him. The little shit is really determined to make this a long night, isn't he? He’d refused to get cleaned up at all. When Diego tried to get blood samples, the gremlin's fighting spirit had returned with a vengeance. The whole process must've taken at least thirty minutes for a few measly swabs. As it is, Luther is probably upset with the lack of thoroughness - Diego, on the other hand, is certain that the kid had tried to bite him when he went in to swab that bloody nose, so Luther should be pleased as peach that they have any samples at this point. Predictably, that whole ordeal hadn’t convinced either detective that the handcuffs weren’t needed, so they remained on the boy, connected to the desk in front of him. 

As the silence drags on, Diego relents. “Alright, let’s try something different - how old are you?”

The kid rolls his eyes and mutters.

“What was that?” 

“Fifteen.”

“ _Bullshit._ "

The kid groans, pulling his hands as far back as they could go and slamming his back into his chair. “What's the point of asking questions if you’ve already decided I’m lying.”

“Gee, it’s almost like I want you to tell the truth.”

The kid’s head snaps up. “Funny - considering you haven’t said one true thing since we've met.”

“Don’t flip this on me, kid. I’m the cop-”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” the kid echoes, flashing a shark’s smile. 

Diego sighs, but part of him is a little intrigued at the kid's fervor. Why the hell is Luther taking so long? “Alright,” he says, surprising the kid and himself, “I’ll bite - why am I not a cop?”

“The two knives in your pockets cannot possibly be regulation, you fight like a mixed martial artist boxer instead of relying on any of the standard Arrest and Control Techniques, and while cops can lie about pretty much anything, that’s only if they’re protecting key evidence or trying to get a suspect to confess - my dad wanting me to take a break from homework wouldn’t qualify.” The kid leans forward, resting his thoroughly irritated wrists on the table’s lip. “Plus you just don’t act like a cop.”

Not for the first time that night Diego finds himself shocked silent. Okay, maybe he has his own knives and defaults to the fighting methods he'd learned as a teen instead of the academy ones, and he generally doesn't give a fuck about procedures if he thinks they don’t protect anyone, and -. Diego mentally shakes himself. Patch is always going on about how he doesn't look or act like a cop, but for a kid to call him out? “What’s this room then, huh? A really good fake?”

“No, this is a police station. Maybe Luther’s a cop or an ex-cop. Maybe you have some friends that lent you the room for the night. Either way, someone’s gonna start asking questions by morning, so why don’t you skip this routine and ask me what you really want to know.”

Part of Diego wants to prove his own innocence, protest that he’s the good guy. But this is the closest the boy has gotten to cooperative in the past hour. Diego can protest his innocence later. “What happened tonight?”

The boy’s tone doesn't hold contempt anymore, just barely veiled confusion. “I got back late from a job, and went to the basement. Practiced some Homer, read a few essays on Quantum Physics, and then you assholes busted in.”

“And Mr. Hargreeves, where was he?”

“I don’t know, the study, maybe? The place is practically his office.” The kid furrows his brow. Diego can practically see the mental calculus he’s doing.

“Anything strike you as odd? Did you hear anything strange?”

“I want to see your badge.”

“You’ve already seen it,” Diego tries to evade. He’s finally getting something akin to a statement. He needs to keep the kid on task.

“Your badge,” the kid growls. “Now.”

Diego slides it carelessly across the desk. “There. Now can we get back to my questions.”

The kid ignores him in favor of picking up the badge. The dried blood on his fingers flakes onto its metal surface and the table as he turns it every which way. The kid squints, his frustrations clearly growing as he rapidly scans the object again. “Shit.” The kid drops the badge with a _thud._ “They let _you_ be a cop?”

Diego finds himself grinning, despite the circumstances. He picks up the discarded badge and puts it away with a smile. “Told you so. Now, you gonna work with me, or not?”

The tension leaves the kid’s posture. He looks tired, and - dammit, why is Diego feeling bad for the little shit? He needs to focus. He has a job to do. 

“I haven’t lied.” The kid’s voice is small, way too small for someone claiming to be fifteen. The way he curls into himself doesn't do him any favors.

Fuck it. "Five," the boy's eyes meet his, and Diego tries his damnedest to funnel as much warmth as he could into his gaze, "you said you got back from a job - when was that?"

"Eight forty-seven."

"That's very precise."

"There's a clock by the door."

Point taken. "What happened next, walk me through it."

"I found Dad in the study, we talked for a bit, and then I went down to the basement to do my homework. I didn't hear anything, but it's soundproof so that doesn't mean much. Why, what did I miss?"

Diego doesn't know if he’s relieved the kid hadn't heard whatever sounds of bloody murder occurred or frustrated that this lead is turning into several branching dead ends. "Was anyone else at the house?"

"No, Dad hates guests." The kid pauses before asking, "Did someone break in?"

"Your dad say anything unusual, do anything strange?"

The boy stays silent, clearly mulling something over. Whatever he is about to say gets cut off by two sharp knocks on the door.

Luther pokes his head in. "Diego, I, uh, found some stuff you should take a look at."

As Diego gets up, he makes the mistake of taking his eyes off the kid. If he had been paying attention, he would've seen Five's expression change to one of open anguish and known the little shit was up to something. The boy turns to Luther, tears already in his eyes, "Why did you lie about my father's murder?"

Luther looks to Diego. "You _told_ him? What the hell, Diego?"

"I didn't, but you sure as hell just did." Diego runs his hand across his face. "Congrats, you tainted our only witness and got played by an eight year old at the same time."

The tears are already drying on the kid's face. "Fifteen," he corrects.

Luther just stands there, dumbfounded, so Diego drags his sorry butt back into the hallway. Maybe he closes the door a little too forcefully - sue him.

"You find anything useful?" Diego snaps with about a quarter of his usual bite.

"Get this: Reginald Hargreeves turns up nothing but a birth certificate and a social security number. No driver's license, passport, or any photo ID. Doesn't even have a dental record."

Diego curses. "Can this dude get any weirder?"

"I talked Klaus into staying to do the autopsy," Luther continues. "He said to check back in about an hour. We should wait til morning to collect statements, and Chief'll send forensics to search the house then, too."

"So we just gotta wait for now?" When Luther nods, Diego groans. 

"How was your talk with Five?"

"That can _not_ be the kid's name."

Luther shrugs. "Maybe it's a nickname. Not like we got anything else to call him. Unless…?"

Diego scoffs. "Yeah, no, kid gave me a whole lot of nothing. Won’t list anyone to contact and said he didn’t wanna phone anybody himself.”

“Did he say anything about what happened?”

“Yeah, a little, but it amounts to jack. If he saw anything, he's keeping quiet."

"What about the blood?"

"Still insisting it's ‘not important.’ Won't let me get close enough to check if any of it is actually his."

Luther narrows his eyes at that. "He's chained to a desk, Diego."

"Yeah, and he can still kick like a motherfucker. You can give the rugrat a checkup, but I'm not getting into any more fights tonight," he snaps.

Luther hums before shifting his feet. "Do you want coffee?" Diego nods and the two head to the break room. As Luther warms up the pot with some bargain brand instant blend, he says, "I could see if Allison's awake - children interrogation is her specialty, after all."

Diego pulls out two of the communal mugs from the cabinet. He rinses them off as he debates Luther's offer. "Nah," he decides, drying them off, "Don't want her thinking you're trying to booty call her."

Luther's face turns a nice shade of red as the pot hisses. He splutters hopelessly for a moment before forgoing speech entirely. Diego grins, stealing the first lukewarm cup of Joe. Luther really does make this too easy.

In the hard earned silence, Diego finds himself asking, "What should we do with the kid?"

Luther frowns. "We need to find out if he has any next of kin, but given the fact he doesn't exist … that's unlikely."

"He's probably a runway," Diego supplies.

Luther gives a half nod, sipping his coffee. "So we should call Social Services. They'll find him a good home."

Diego's history with social services is mixed. On the one hand, he couldn't imagine anyone, blood related or not, being as wonderful as his adopted mother Grace. It's the greatest stroke of luck that she found him and decided to welcome him into her home. On the other hand, he's seen many kids disappear into the system with promises of loving families only to end up with naught. Honestly, he was surprised when Luther admitted he got adopted at age seven - it seemed too old. Grace had taken Diego home when he was two, and from Diego's experience, people didn't adopt children much older than three or four. The boy in their interrogation room was unlikely to get re-homed, especially if he was anything close to this mouthy on an average day.

"You call em yet?"

Luther looks into his mug. "No. I mean, it seemed kinda late, and everything else was getting pushed off til the morning, so…" For all his muscle, Luther really is soft. "I was thinking one of us could take him for the night. Once we decide he isn't going to pick a fight."

Diego downs the rest of his cup. "I don't think he's gonna as long as we don't get in his space. He thought I flashed a fake badge down in the basement. Kid probably figured we were kidnappers or something."

Luther hums. "You cleared that up then?"

"No, because I'm an absolute idiot - what do you think, man?" Diego pushes Luther’s shoulder jokingly.

"Do you think it's a good idea for him to stay at my place for the night?" Luther asked, suddenly looking up. 

If Diego is being honest, he'd say no. In theory, there shouldn't be anything wrong with the plan. But Diego knows one of two things would happen. Option One: Luther would get too nervous and overthink everything to the point he'd be a complete and utter mess and have to call in one of his many saved sick days, delaying the case by at least a full twenty-four hours, ie the most crucial hours in finding their mystery murderer. Or Option Two: Luther would pack bond with the boy like he did with anything that had a pulse and showed him an ounce of affection. So he'd either have to be forcibly torn away from the kid when social services came and be mopey over the whole thing for a month, or worse still, there would be no stopping him from adopting the terrible teen, his shitty detective salary be damned. 

But Diego is not in the habit of speaking his mind so he says, "I don't know man, I'd feel bad to just stick you with him. Hey," he starts, like he just came up with this idea on the fly, "I got a coin - let's flip for it."

Luther puts down his mug. "Sounds good. So what: heads he stays at my place, tails he stays at yours?"

"Works with me." Diego flips the coin into the air. It isn't weighted - it’s your average quarter. But as it falls, Diego wills it to spin on the uneven police tiles and finally land on tails. If he just focuses hard enough...

"Tails," Luther calls out, picking up the coin. He smiles sympathetically. "Tough luck."

"Win some, lose some," he responds, taking back the quarter. It'd be better this way: he, unlike Luther, could see the big picture and not get distracted. Diego could stay focused on the mission at hand and not get overly attached to the runaway. He pockets the coin and sips the last dregs of his cup. The clock on the wall reads three fifteen. "Klaus should be done soon, right?"

Luther follows Diego's gaze. "Yeah." He starts washing out his mug and takes Diego's without complaint. "So we talk to him and then you tell Five the good news."

"Tell me what," the kid calls from the doorway. 

There’s Five, standing there, liked he hadn't been left in a locked interrogation room. Somehow, he had managed to wash the blood off his face, revealing a split lip and a forehead wound right below his lower right temple. His wrists, while red, are entirely handcuff free. The little bugger's eyes light up when he spots the coffee machine. "That fresh?" He asks, already walking towards the coffee pot.

"Y-you can't just - when did you, you, even," Diego cries out. He couldn't picture what words he wants to say, because where the hell is he supposed to begin?

Luther takes the child's sudden appearance in apparent stride. Not reacting as the kid stands on his tiptoes to grab a cup from their cabinet. Not saying a word as the boy pours himself a cup. Not staring as the gremlin drinks the stuff black and doesn't even make a face, but _fucking grins_. "So," Five askes, "what are we doing?"


	4. The Body

Diego takes a long breath and then calmly states, "We're going to get the autopsy report from our friend, and then you're gonna stay at my place for the night."

Five downs the rest of his cup. “Let’s go, then.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Luther cuts in, grabbing Five’s empty mug. He makes quick work of it as he explains, “You can’t see a body in an ongoing investigation - that’s illegal.”

“So is escaping police custody, by the way, if you were curious,” Diego adds.

Five reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves a familiar set of handcuffs. “Let the record show that if I wanted to escape, I’d be gone by now,” he shoots back, gently tossing them to Diego. “I merely went to find my captors - police officers, sorry - and inform them of their ineffective security measures.”

Diego bites back a smile as he examines the cuffs. They don’t look broken. In fact, they look like they’re still perfectly fitted for the child’s hands. “Tell us, oh expert, what exactly are those flaws?”

“Your handcuffs are shit.”

Diego snorts. “Very informative, I’ll notify the chief immediately.” He pushes the cuffs into Luther’s now free hands. “You, meanwhile, can go wait in the interrogation room and feel real lucky we didn’t throw you in a cell for this stunt.” He nods to Luther and gestures to the door. 

“Right,” Luther chimes in. 

They’re already halfway out of the room when Five questioned, “How do you plan on identifying the body?” They both freeze. Diego meets Luther’s eyes. If there was nothing in their file on Reginald Hargreeves, how  _ would  _ they identify the victim? “Dad was a paranoid bastard,” Five continues. “Hated big government, too. There’s no way you know his blood type, let alone anything that actually could prove his identity.” The boy turns his back and opens the nearby fridge. He must not like what he sees because he closes the door just as fast. Recalling the time Allison forgot her sushi there for a month or literally anything Klaus would store there, Diego can’t blame the kid. “But by all means, ignore the only person who could tell you whether the corpse was Reginald’s or his attacker’s.” 

Diego turns to Luther. "Kid's got a point."

He would place Luther's expression somewhere between incredulous and betrayed. The man turns to the boy, giving a forced smile. "Could you give us a second, Five?"

"Sure - does that vending machine in the hall actually work?"

"Sorta," Luther replies. "It only takes quarters and the button for row E is busted."

"I can work with that." Without a second glance, the kid strolls out of the room, wearing a cocky grin. 

Luther waits all of three seconds before whisper-yelling, "Diego, that's a literal child!"

"He's also our only lead."

"Weren't you the one saying we can't trust a thing he says?"

"We shouldn't." Diego further lowered his voice on the off chance Five is lurking outside the door. "We see if any of his neighbors have an idea of what Hargreeves looked like or knows someone he hung out with. But that'll take time, Luther. Meanwhile, we need an angle to work."

The taller man pauses, mulling over Diego's plan. "If the kid freaks out, we take him out of there."

"Duh. I'm not a monster, dude."

"And we should ask neighbors if they've seen Five before. And do a more extensive missing kids search."

Diego could feel the paperwork induced migraine coming on already. "Jesus, the checklist just keeps growing."

"I'll get everything sorted."

"Seriously?"

Lutger straightens his shoulders. "It's only fair. I wasn't expecting this case to be so … complex, and besides, you're taking Five."

Right, keeping Luther away from the boy meant Diego would actually have to watch him. "Pray that I don't kill the gremlin."

Luther actually cracks a smile at that.

……

Said gremlin isn't lurking by the break room - he is, in fact, actually at the vending machine. Or, more accurately, he’s laying on the floor by the vending machine, one hand stretched out underneath it.

"Having fun?" Diego calls out at the same time Luther sincerely asks, "Need a hand?"

Five looks up. "What do you think?" he says shortly. He swipes his hand to and fro across the hidden floor. Diego hears the tell-tale  _ thwap _ of flesh hitting metal. He winces on reflex, but Five only bites his lip before cursing, "Shit."

Luther walks over, squatting down to Five's level - or what it would've been if the boy wasn't sprawled on the floor. The giant waits a moment before speaking in a hushed voice, "What's going on, Five?"

Diego barely catches Five's mumbled reply, "Dropped my quarter, and of course it had to roll all the way back."

"Do you want a hand?"

Five squints up at him. "Your hand's bigger than mine."

"I could lift the machine for a second - you'd have to grab your coin back though. Need both hands to lift it."

"This is an older machine," the kid explains, as if the detective doesn't already know that, "which means that it weighs about 900 pounds  _ empty. _ You can't just lift it."

Luther gives his signature doopy grin. "Sure I can. I'm not bench pressing the thing - just lifting it up a little on its front feet - that's reasonable, right?"

Diego can see the gears turning in Five's head again, so he calls out, "You two about done yet? Some of us have shit to do."

That must've been enough of a push because next thing he knows the boy mutters something and Luther's grin gets more ridiculous. Then, fast as lightning, Luther lifts the vending machine a good three to four inches off the ground and the kid retrieves his coin. The two wear matching smiles for a split second. Then, Luther’s replying, "One minute, Diego" as Five punches the aged buttons.

"Klaus is gonna be pissed if we're not there on the hour. He hates staying late," Diego bitches back half-heartedly.

"It's fine. Klaus can't even tell time."

…….

"You're late," Klaus sing-songs as Diego opens the door to the morgue's lab. 

Diego raises an eyebrow at Luther, but graciously lets his “I told you so” go unsaid. Instead he points at the pint-sized visitor, "Had to grab our witness."

Diego's favorite quality of Klaus' is his sincere ability to not give a singular fuck about all but the most important things (though even some of those important things took convincing for fucks to be given). Dress code? Optional, he's wearing the skirt he traded Allison a box of tacky jewelry for, and his shoes and socks are nowhere to be found. Stay late for a case? Oh, he'll bitch and moan for sure but that's more to extort something out of you (historically speaking, waffles and a new pair of earbuds, or ice cream and two of Allison's boas). Diego's seen him be just as pleased doing his job at three o'clock as doing it at three in the morning. Kid shows up with a half eaten candy bar in his hand to identify the most gruesome body they've had in the past twenty years? He doesn't even question it, just nods his head and goes, "Fudgenutter - a man of taste."

To Diego's surprise, the kid actually replies with a sincere, "Your skirt's nice."

"Danke!" Klaus plays with the flowing fabric for a moment. "We all set?" He says, letting his eyes wander over the trio. 

Luther and Diego watch Five quickly fold the wrapper over his chocolate and slip it into his pocket. Once the boy nods, Klaus leads them over to the covered body.

"We normally start off with the face," Klaus explains, "but we can look at other parts too - but not  _ his parts, _ you're a minor, and necrophilia is a little kinky, even for me-"

"Klaus," Luther warns.

"Point is, totally normal if you can't ID the person from the face - happens all the time, even in cases with more … pristine faces."

Five nods and Klaus lifts the sheet partially, letting everyone have a good look at the cadaver's head.

The head rests too nicely on the table, Diego realizes. Dude had to have hit the back of it against something hard to make a dent into the skull like that. As a result, there’s a lot of blood and small cuts on the head's side, probably spiderwebbing their way from that hidden injury. There’s bruising along the front of his face, most prominently along the nose, though there’s a nice shinier around the man's left eye. Despite this, both of the man's eyes are still open. Klaus had folded the tarp so that it hid the neck and its bloody wound from sight, though the blood spatter around the man's chin and mouth are probably from that.

Five scrunches up his own face as he takes in the sight. In less than thirty seconds, he pipes up, "It's him."

"You sure?" Luther asks.

Five nods, not looking up. He points with his left hand, keeping it a good two feet away from the corpse. "Facial structure, the front half at least, is still the same. Hair color and style match. So do eye color." He points to the more injured eye. "He wore a monocle, and the bruising matches the pattern, I think."

Klaus smiles, tenting his hands. "Not bad, not bad. Someone's after my job, methinks!" Klaus reaches his gloved hand to one of the nearby tables and produces a mangled monocle. He shakes it once before placing it over the eye, and yeah, it certainly is a match. Klaus raises the monocle and puts it back in the metal bowl. "Ooh, we should see if you could get a work-study going with your school. How are you with ghosts?"

Five finally looks up from the body. "Ghosts?"

Diego is content to let Klaus play his little game, but Luther … not so much. "Don't ask," he says, conspiratorially.

Klaus catches Diego's gaze. The man tilts his head toward the table for just a second before pulling it forcibly to the other side. Diego spots a manila folder near the monocle while Klaus ups his theatrics.

"Yes, ghosts!" Klaus continues. "They tend to chill around their bodies, unless they're adventurous, like Ben. Poor sod is too extraverted for his own good. Being around a morgue means lots of ghosts, and if you're more spiritually aware, that can be distracting, distressing, and … some other 'D' word, probably."

Five cocks his head in response. 

Diego can tell that Luther is about to speak, so he slyly taps his elbow in warning. Luther looks thoroughly lost, but Diego gives a minute shake of his head. He wills that Luther catches on to what Klaus is doing, or at least trusts Diego's judgement on this.

"Can you see ghosts then?" Five asks, doubt and curiosity mingling in his voice.

"Uh huh. There's three here right now. Well, four if you count Ben." Klaus pauses for a moment before he turns to the space by the unoccupied door. "I didn't count you because you're always here, Ben."

Five doesn't look convinced.

"What? Don't say you're doubting moi," Klaus rests his gloved hand dramatically on his chest. When Five doesn’t react, Klaus huffs. "Oh, this can  _ not _ stand. Alright, Five." Klaus tears off his gloves and balls them together, tossing them like a basketball at the bin by the door (he misses - badly). He offers his tattoo'd "Hello" hand to the boy. "I'm gonna show you every ghost in this haunted house."

Five looks at the hand and then the two detectives. "This is a false choice, isn't it."

"With Klaus? Always." Luther responds.

Five still doesn't take the hand, preferring to tap it away. "Okay, crazy guy, I'll play. But you're gonna have to try much harder to convince me."

"Challenge accepted. Let's try Margaret - that bitch is  _ loud _ , no way you can miss her. She went a little cuckoo before she popped off and I can't convince the bat that our storage rack is  _ not her kitchen pantry. _ " Klaus chatters on as he leads Five to the opposite side of the room.

Luther turns to Diego, "What was that all about?"

Diego grabs the folder - yep, autopsy report. "Giving us some space to discuss the gory bits."

"Oh," Luther steals an appreciative glance at Klaus' direction. "That was insightful."

Diego looks over. Klaus is gesturing emphatically and, if he strains his ears, he can hear him saying, "-right there! Y'know, this one's on me: Margaret is objectively the worst. Ben, you help us out instead!" 

Diego goes back to scanning the folder, handing a few pages to Luther. "He comes through when you need him."

Luther hums, reading. "Klaus found some bruising along the arms and legs, so Hargreeves probably fought against his attacker."

"Beyond the head wound at the back of the skull, there's no injuries from behind." Diego worries his lip. "Yeah, that's a decent theory, for now at least." He shows Luther one of the pages. "But check this: that neck wound is very particular."

Luther furrows his brow. "That's incredibly thin - maybe fishing wire?"

"I'm not so sure. The cut is really clean. Klaus says this is probably the killing blow."

"That or the skull breakage." Luther corrects. "So, the neck was cut at the same time, or almost the same time, as the head hit something hard. That's-"

"Overkill."

"I was thinking 'gruesome and hateful' but that too." Luther rereads the section. "Jesus."

In their sudden lull, Diego can clearly hear Klaus' indignant cry of "What?! You can't like Ben more than me!" Diego suppresses the urge to snort as Luther chuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, bookmarks, and kudos - it's awesome to know people enjoy this au <3  
> Even if I don't respond to them, please know your kind words really make my day!


	5. The Apartment

Diego was regretting his life choices. 

He needs to be more careful with his words, especially around the squirt. Honestly, it’s impressive that Klaus had managed to run interference and genuinely entertain the kid - Five had actually smiled during some of the ramblings! But apparently bluntly calling attention to that sort of thing is a no-go. Five had bristled, frown fully reformed in an instant, stating that he was "ready to leave the cultist's den as soon as possible". In retrospect, maybe Diego should’ve phrased it differently. Five, as Diego is quickly learning, does not like to be talked down to, and something like, "You done playing with Klaus, kid?" would be taken as a direct attack. So Five had stayed silent, sullen, and on guard as Diego worked out some final details with Luther before heading out.

The commute home isn’t faring any better. 

Diego hates the quiet. His work is always noisy whether he’s busy doing paperwork at the precinct or out about town. His shitty apartment is incapable of being silent - if the meatheads aren't going at it in the gym above, the bare piping is dripping or the lights are buzzing and flickering, or if all that failed, there’s the constant humming of the boiler. Normally, he enjoyed his commute. For once, he could completely control the sound he’s hearing. He'd put on an old CD or maybe plug in his phone's playlist and even sing his damn lungs out if the mood struck him. But no way in hell was he gonna do that with someone sitting in his passenger seat. And the kid had made no move to turn on the radio himself.

Five is staring out the window. His hands come so very close to tapping on the passenger door that it physically frustrates Diego. His fingers are poised to start drumming, but of course the gremlin won't do something so stereotypically annoying, not if Diego would actually be pleased by it.

Still Diego has enough self-control to not start a conversation. The clock on the dash reads three forty-six. They had both had a long day, and their history of communication is pretty shitty. Give the kids some time to collect his thoughts and everything. Or, better yet, let the silence lull the kid to sleep.

That was the plan, anyway. But fifteen minutes in, and nearly all of his resolve is gone. Diego speaks up with the elegant starter of, "You okay over there?"

Five hums noncommittally. 

With the silence broken, Diego figures he might as well lay out the plans for tomorrow (technically today, but he refuses to think like that and fess up to how much sleep he’s losing). Wasn't Allison saying that kids always liked routines or some shit? And Five seemed like the nosy type. "We’ll have to head back to the precinct in the morning. Luther and I have to run around town, but - as long as you behave - you should be allowed to hang out in the break room. Allison will swing by to … hang out with you.” Diego steals a glance at Five. The boy’s posture hasn't changed but his look doesn't scream Zoned Out, so he’s probably listening. Probably. “She might take you to the doctor's, or that might happen the day after. Depends on availability and all that."

"Don’t need a doctor - ’m fine,” the boy mumbles.

Though Diego very much wants to call bullshit, he thinks better of it. He shouldn’t start a fight with a kid, especially while driving. So Diego just pauses for half a moment before saying, "I know, but it's procedure and all that."

Five doesn't say anything. Maybe the squirt is falling asleep. Diego is pretty sure Five’s going to fight him on this, considering how he avoided any attempts to get close to his personal space, let alone invade it. No way would the kid be this easy-going in the morning.

But hey, that’s a problem for the morning.

……

Five only quirks an eyebrow when they arrive at the shittiest gym in town. "This is it," Diego says with as much cheer as he can force into his voice (it isn’t a lot). He flips on the lightswitch, shoos the kid inside, and closes the door.

Five, again, is quiet as he takes in the scene. Though the place doesn't deserve all the scrutiny. It’s a boiler room basement that someone had half-remodeled in a bid to make some extra cash. There’s a pathetic kitchenette, but that’s where the remodeling had begun and ended. Diego had tucked his bed in the other unoccupied corner and pushed a shitty couch and sturdy coffee table in the center of the room. Between the boiler and its piping and the massive staircase to get into the basement, the place is … cramped.

Diego is expecting Five to make some snide comment. When he doesn't, Diego starts walking down the stairs, the kid echoing his footsteps. "Bathroom is down the hall and to the right. It's the gym one, but Sal doesn't lock it." 

Unsurprisingly, Diego doesn't have guests over often. Or, like, ever. Well, Mom had helped him move in, but that didn't really count. And with his first guest, he realizes he might be woefully unprepared. The couch is probably good enough to crash on, but what about a pillow and blanket? That’s necessary stuff, and does he even have spares? Oh, shit, has he actually made it to the grocery store this week? Is there  _ anything  _ in his fridge at this point? 

Five waits for a moment as Diego inwardly panics. The man is dimly aware that the kid shrugs off his jacket and sits down on the couch. Wordlessly, Five balls up his jacket, putting it down at the opposite armrest. Then he lays down with his back to Diego. Might’ve even muttered a quick “goodnight” but that could’ve been the odd creaking of the furniture.

Diego frowns. Five's quick resignation bothers him. He especially doesn't like how the kid kept his shoes on, like he was gonna bolt at any moment. But if Diego is gonna get anywhere, he needs to solve one problem at a time. He has to have something that could make the couch a little more comfortable.

Wait, hadn't Mom given him a throw blanket last Christmas? He searches under his bed, pulls out the cardboard box, and yes, there it is. A nice little thing depicting the moon breaking into chunks. Mom had gotten into a lot of abstract art last year, but this piece of hers is objectively nice - part of the reason he keeps it in the box. It'd collect dust, if not get water damage from the pipes, if it was left out on the couch. And Diego never spent much time at his apartment anyways (when was the last time he even sat on that couch?), so keeping it tucked away seemed like the smartest option.

"Here." Diego says before tossing the blanket at Five. The kid lets the fabric hit his back before slowly turning over. Methodically, he unfolds the blanket.

"Get some rest." Diego says. Five takes it as the "Good night" it was meant to be, nodding once and wrapping himself up in the throw blanket.

Diego switches into pajamas quickly. Then he picks up one of his rubber training knives and lobs it at the lightswitch. As he sinks into his bed, the knife hits its target, making the room pitch dark before it flops onto the concrete floor.

……

Diego's alarm goes off far too early. He manages to get up with only minimal hatred flowing in his veins though, so he takes the little victory. On autopilot, he gets up, takes a quick shower (for the love of God, could Sal turn on the hot water early just  _ once _ ? ), and gets in uniform. It isn't until he’s mixing his protein powder into his thermos that he actually feels awake.

Today is going to be long. Diego needs to coordinate with Luther, sift through testimony, figure out leads, update the chief, drop off Five with Allison - and that’s just the stuff he could immediately recall.

He looks over at the kid. Five is still asleep - hadn't even moved as Diego trudged through his morning routine. The boy almost looks peaceful.

Diego grimaces as he finishes stirring his drink. The kid doesn't __really_ _ need to be at the precinct first thing in the morning; Allison never starts her day until the afternoon. Diego could let Five sleep for a few more hours, swing back during break, and drop him off with Allison, no problem. Though that couch can’t be comfortable. And it isn't like the bed is currently in use anymore…

He moves in front of the couch, and, before Diego can think better if it, picks up the boy. Carrying a person is never easy, but carrying Five isn't challenging. For one thing, he only has to take like three steps. For another, Diego would bet good money the kid is solidly under whatever weight range is considered average and healthy for his size. Plus, Five continues sleeping like the dead, so not moving a flailing object helped.

As he sets Five down, Diego notices something tucked in the boy's fist. A small … plush dog. The shitty kind Diego remembers finding in arcades. What little stuffing in the thing is thoroughly crushed, making the toy look fairly pathetic. The fabric is worn, too. Huh. He didn't take Five as the kind of kid to keep these sorts of trinkets, but, well, Five is a kid, after all.

Which reminds him that Five probably still had that candy bar in his jacket, wedged between the cushions. It would melt in no time with how hot this room could run during operating hours. 

Diego retrieves the jacket and riffles through it. A bouncy ball. A folded note - the words "The Lonely Lodge Inn" followed by an address written on it. Eighteen dollars exclusively in one dollar bills. A cracked doll's head, and only the doll's head (though would finding other parts have been better?). And yes, the half eaten candy bar, already beginning to drip through the wrapper. Diego half thinks about throwing it away, but goes with his first inclination. It isn't like there’s much to eat around here: half a packet of instant ramen, two eggs, and an almost empty box of saltines. 

He puts the other items back in the jacket, folds it, and leaves it on the couch. After searching for a pen and paper for longer than he'd care to admit, Diego leaves a short note:

_ Put your candy in the fridge so it wouldn't melt. Will be back around 12-2. Be ready to leave then. Don't leave the building. _

_ Seriously. _

_ That counts as escaping custody, asshole. _

And with that, Diego heads to the precinct.

……

"Where's Five?"

"Good morning to you too, Luther." Diego takes the offered coffee cup - takeout from Griddy's,  _ hell yes. _ "He was still sleeping, so I left him at the apartment. I can run by during break to pick him up."

"You just left him all alone?"

"Christ, he's not a dog trapped in a car - he'll be fine."

Luther pauses at that, allowing Diego to peacefully take one glorious sip of his drink. But then he asks, "What if he runs?"

"He won't," Diego says, more confidently than he believes. "Kid has nowhere to go, anyways."

Monkey Man still looks doubtful, but he doesn't press on the point. "If you're sure," he says in a tone that really means, "It's your ass on the line when this goes south, not mine." Luther stuffs a brown takeout bag into his desk drawer. Then he takes a sip of his own drink. "Captain wants this case as priority number one."

"No shit," Diego speaks into his coffee. "Wait, you met with him already?"

"I wanted to get him caught up ASAP. You weren't here yet."

Typical Luther. Of course Monkey Man would think that he’s capable of giving the full report on his own. Diego, in Luther's mind, is just a lackey. Diego grits his teeth. "I'm fifteen minutes late."

"It was an informal thing." Luther's brow is beginning to furrow. "Is there a problem, Diego?"

"Nope." 

"Okay." Luther seems unconvinced. Diego can see him carefully picking out his next words. "Captain wants us on lead."

"Good." Diego mutters.

"As partners."

Diego shouldn't be surprised. Eudora's still on leave, Luther still hasn't been assigned a new partner, and they both worked the case last night. It's the obvious choice. Still, he nearly chokes on his coffee.

Luther raises an eyebrow. "There a problem, Diego?"

"Nope."

He looks even less convinced. "Okay. I figured out a route of houses to hit for statements. Should take most of the morning to go through them. I sent Klaus over to the house already."

"He must be excited."

"Hardly. Oh, and I called Allison-"

"Keep your love life to yourself, dude."

"-  _ about Five. _ She said she'd check with her friends in Social Services to see if he matches any cases."

"Sounds like a longshot," Diego replies. "You send his picture down to missing persons?"

"Yeah, no immediate matches, but if he was staying with Hargreeves for a while, that's not too odd. They're still scanning the files, but kids can be difficult to track."

Diego nods. Kids change a lot in a few years, going from baby-faced to actually looking like almost adults. "Might take a bit, then."

"Exactly."

Diego takes another gulp of coffee. The caffeine better start kicking in fast. "Okay, run me through that route you worked out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I should write for this fic consistently. I know! - I'll make sure to write a few chapters ahead so that I won't fall behind, and even if I do, I'll have a buffer. I can leave editing until posting though - that never takes too long.  
> also me: * proceeds to rewrite this chapter opening five times, change the ending ten times, and switch up details 9 zillion times*  
> me: ... I may have errored.


	6. The Witness

Diego learns very quickly that while Golden Boy might have protocol and procedure down, his social skills could use some work. Everyone who opens their door seems on edge in a way that Luther's small smiles and low "ma'm's' and "sir's" can't seem to remedy. Maybe the kid's really getting to him, but Diego can't help but wonder if Luther and him really do look like some mafia duo, the muscle and the sweet talker, as they approach another door. 

They've gone through most of the list already and turned up with nothing to show for it. "No, I never talked to Reginald Hargreeves - to be honest, I had no idea who lived there." "Mr. Hargreeves? No, I don't know how he spent his time." "I've never seen kids around that house before, no." "I was in bed last night, officers. I'm afraid I didn't see or hear anything." Diego braces for more disappointment as Luther knocks on the door.

They're met by a rather mousey looking man in a plaid shirt. He smiles when he opens the door, but the grin quickly turns nervous once he spots the police uniforms. "Oh, hello, officers. What, ah, seems to be the problem?"

"No problems, sir," Luther corrects easily - bastard should be good at it after saying the same things over and over twenty times, Diego thinks to himself. "We just need to ask some questions about one of your neighbors, if you have the time to spare."

The man nods his head a few times. "Right," he starts. He lets the sentence hang there for a moment, before picking it back up with renewed energy, "Come in then." The man opens the door and walks further into the house.

Diego and Luther both move to enter, blocking the other's path. For a moment, they have a silent battle. Then the man calls over, "Can I get you two some jello?" and Diego uses the distraction to slip through the door and get one up on Luther.

As Luther huffs, Diego looks over his list. "That won't be necessary," he responds. "You Elliott Gussman?"

The kitchen is right by the door, and Diego finds himself instantly jealous. It isn't high-end by a long-shot, but that's what is appealing about it. Open space, just enough countertop and cabinets, a fridge in a corner and a goddamn oven - it is all perfectly mundane and in reach and makes Diego think, "I could probably afford this in a year or two." He really needs to start apartment hunting again.

Elliott closes the fridge door with a frown. "Yes, that's me - can I at least get you some coffee? It's Columbian, my own personal blend."

As Diego weighs the pros and cons, Luther enters the room. "Coffee sounds great," he says, diplomatically.

Elliott perks up at that, ushering them into the living room and onto a couch. He goes back into the kitchen, and Diego and Luther takes the opportunity to look around. While Luther stares at the photos on the wall, Diego unabashedly touches the knick-knacks on various surfaces.

A face-down framed wedding photo (broken up or just fighting, Diego wondered). Several folded up sticky notes with phrases like "Call Dad," "Appointment Friday," and "Pick up Peanut butter." There are some loose papers about. Something about "Area 51" and "The Truth is Out There." Diego mentally sighs as he drops the papers and takes a seat next to Luther on the couch. The first pleasant person they run into, and the guy is probably nutty.

Elliott returns, nearly balancing three coffee cups. He manages to set them down without spilling a drop. Elliott doesn’t pick up his own mug though. He just sits expectantly. 

Diego picks up the cup, enjoying the warmth. Luther, probably trying to be social, actually takes a sip, but winces from the heat. Diego smirks as Luther tries to recover. "It's good," he says.

"Thanks."

"Are you familiar with Reginald Hargreeves?" Diego asks, biting the bullet. The sooner they hear "no," the sooner they can leave this awkward situation.

"Yes. Well, ah, not really - I mean, we're not friends or anything, but I know him, know of him. He owns the house down the street, always dresses in a suit and monocle, big on the sciences." 

Diego raises an eyebrow at that. It isn't a lot, granted, but that's more detail than anyone else has given them. Luther must've had the same thought. "Big on the sciences? How so?" the larger man presses.

"Oh, well," Elliott glances from side-by-side. "He's involved in some … fringe stuff."

"Go on," Diego prods, like a cat pawing at a mouse.

"I dunno, it's kinda out-there, and you probably won't believe me…"

Diego frowns at that. Elliott seems nice enough, but they don’t have time to waste on crazy ramblings. Then again, if the man’s self-aware, maybe Elliot wasn't actually bonkers? Luther, unaware of Diego's dilemma, charges valiantly forward. "We've heard some pretty out-there stuff."

Not to be outdone by Monkey Man, Diego tacks on, "Even seen some weird stuff, too."

Elliott hesitates before leaning forward. "Hargreeves funds some crazy experiments: growth hormones, astrophysics tests, psionic vibration manipulation, you name it. It's all through shell companies and middlemen, but the money comes from him."

"How do you know it's him?" Luther asks.

Elliott smiles sheepishly. "I went to school with the postman. He tells me Hargreeves get packages and letters sent from all sorts of labs and scientists regularly. So I did some digging-." Elliott cuts himself as he eyes the police insignia on Luther's jacket. "And the uh, amount of money always matches."

Elliott takes a hurried gulp of his coffee as Luther scratches down some notes. Then Monkey Man asks, "Were you at home last night?"

"Yes, I was fixing some electronics in the workshop downstairs - I'm a repairman. Someone brought in a TV set from the sixties that their grandmother left them, and it's been tricky to get it working again."

Diego smiles at the rambling man. "Did you hear or see anything unusual?"

"Is this about the gunshots?"

Diego and Luther side-eye each other. "Yeah, El. We're gonna need you to tell us everything about those."

"I think it was around ten or eleven when I heard the first gunshot. The second one came immediately after that, so I ran upstairs here and looked outside - there's no windows downstairs, it's why I work down there, can't get distracted-"

Although Diego wouldn't cut the man off, Luther has no such qualms. "Elliott, the gunshots."

"Oh? Oh, yes, sorry. I ran to the window and tried to figure out where the gunshots were coming from. Then someone climbed out of the window from Hargreeves' house and booked it down the street. A little while later, the cops were taping up the place, so I thought you guys had that one solved?" Elliott gives a nervous chuckle.

"This figure," Luther presses. "Did you make any details at all?"

"No," Elliott replies. "It was very dark, and they moved fast. I'm sorry I didn't come forward sooner, but I didn't think 'nondescript person' would be very helpful at all."

"You'd be surprised," Diego responds. He digs in his pocket, pulling out the photo of Five from last night. It's not a mug shot, but from the look the kid's giving, it might as well be. Diego holds it out for Elliott to see. "Have you seen this boy before?"

Elliott takes a long look at the photo. "Oh, yes, I've seen him before. His name's Five, right? He stops by, from time to time."

Diego grips the picture tighter to keep from dropping it. Luther looks over at him, and he instantly knows what he’s thinking. This is the biggest lead they found today. Luther continues the questioning for him. "Tell us more about this kid."

"That's a bit of a misnomer," Elliott begins, tapping his fingers in the lip of his mug. "He _looks_ like a kid, but he's really an alien."

Diego is careful to school his expression. He had been expecting the crazy to come forward eventually. He steals a glance at Luther, who’s also trying hard to look neutral. Unfortunately, the other man's reply of "Oh?" kinda gives the game away.

Elliott, for his part, doesn’t seem too discouraged. "I know, I know, I seem screwy. But he _is_ an alien. He can … _do_ things." When neither of them speak up, Elliot continues a little more desperately. "Like he'll stand right there and then the air around him gets all blue and bright and then he'll be somewhere else."

"So the kid can teleport," Luther says slowly.

"Yes!" Elliott replies. "And humans can't do that, not to mention he seems a _lot_ older than he looks. It all points to _alien_."

Diego takes a stab at getting actually usable statements. "So does Five come here often?"

"Every few weeks or so, and always at odd hours. He actually stopped by last night. He normally just drinks some coffee or sits quietly scribbling away in a notebook-"

Luther cuts him off once more, "Wait a minute, you saw him last night?"

"Yes, a few hours before all the commotion - seven-ish, I want to say. I was making dinner when I found him sitting on the couch, and I startled a bit because," he gestures vaguely, "y'know, you don't ever get used to someone literally popping in on you. And that wouldn't have been odd if he didn't have blood all over his clothes-"

Diego still isn't sure if Elliott's testimony is reliable. If the dude believed in aliens, then his accounts might contain other oddities that don't match reality. But Five did have blood over him last night, so maybe, just maybe, the testimony is good, for the most part. "He had blood on him?" Luther asks incredulously. "Why?"

"That's exactly what I asked him!" Elliot replies. "And he told me not to worry about it. But you don't just _not worry_ about that, so while I'm trying to get my barrings, he explains that one of his father's test-tube-grown humans had exploded and he wants to use the shower before he goes home so it won't look like he just murdered some people. So he takes a shower, comes out a lot less bloody, helps himself to some coffee and sits with me while I finish up my dinner. But he only has half a cup before he stands up and says he has to go, or Hargreeves will be mad."

The name of the victim catches Diego's attention again. "Wait, what does Hargreeves have to do with him?"

"Reginald Hargreeves is his father. Well, not really though. He's posing as his father since Five looks like a kid."

"For how long?"

Elliott looks thoughtful. "A few years. Six or so, I want to say. It has to be somewhere close to that, since they only got the mother four years ago, and Five was with him for at least two years beforehand."

Luther pipes up, "Mother?"

"Some girl who could pose for his mother, I mean. She doesn't stay with them though, so it's not a particularly good cover."

Luther flips to a new page in his notebook. "Could you describe her?"

"Early or mid thirties. White, like really pale skinned, dark hair a little longer than shoulder length. Oh! Her hair's brown - matches her eyes. She wears plaid a lot."

Luther finishes jotting the description down. He looks to Diego, seeing if there were any questions left to ask. Diego thinks for a moment - no, the biggest question is how much of Elliott's testimony is actually good, and it's not like they can just ask the man that. Diego rises to his feet. "Thanks, El. You've been a big help."

"No problem, officers." Elliott trails behind them as they make their way toward the exit. "Ah, just, um, Five's not in trouble, is he?" As Diego mulls over his response, Elliott continues. "Because I know it might look bad since well, the blood, but it wasn't a real person yet, just an experiment mishap. And you can't charge someone with murder over that, right?"

Diego puts his arm on Elliott's shoulder. "No, no you can't," he replies with a smirk. He claps the man on the back before walking out.

"Thanks for the coffee," Luther says evenly before closing the door.

Diego allows himself to wait until they get back into the car to announce, "He's fucking insane."

"Diego-"

"Don’t start, Luther: he was talking about _aliens._ No judge or jury in their right mind would call any of that shit ‘reliable testimony’.”

Luther turns the key in the ignition. He’d relents to the Ape’s request to drive, and damn, is he regretting it. Sitting shotgun gives him too much time to think, and he is just getting ticked off at the whole situation now. Luther, oblivious to Diego’s mood, gives a wistful smile. “Since when did you start thinking about what evidence is proper?"

"Since we've got a crime scene out of a B slasher film on our doorstep, a kid whose alibi can't be checked, and our only witness thinks he's in ET," Diego shoots back fiercely.

"You don't think Five did it." They drive a block in complete silence before Luther speaks up again. "Do you?"

"He was covered in blood when we got there."

"He's a kid, Diego."

"A kid who took you out of a fight way too damn fast." That killed the conversation once more. Diego sighed. "Listen, I don't want Five to be our killer, but don't act like you haven't had the same thoughts."

"He's not a suspect." Diego noted how Luther gripped the steering wheel. The man's eyes pointedly stayed straight ahead as his knuckles whitened. The fabric around the wheel was starting to give.

But Diego can never leave anything be. "Then why'd you take the blood samples?"

"Procedure."

Diego laughs mirthlessly. "Sure, keep telling yourself that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all so much for the kind words, bookmarks, and kudos you guys are leaving on this fic! I had a lot of fun writing this latest chapter (if you couldn't tell by the sheer amount of dialogue I gave Elliott), and I hope you have fun reading it :)


	7. The Question

The car is silent as Luther navigates back to the precinct. Shit, it is almost noon, already? "Can we double back to Hargreeves' place?"

Luther grunts and grumbles, but does indeed turn the car around. Even still, he says, "Klaus probably isn't even finished yet."

Diego hums in response. He lets his mind wander over the details of the case. And even though he knows that he can’t legally do shit with their latest testimony, he still lets it rattle around in his brain, hoping that he just might stumble against something, _anything_ useful. "Okay, let's say Elliott isn't off his rocker, and his alien obsession is just a quirk-"

"Our best analyst says he gets his data from _ghosts_ , Diego," Luther cuts in. "I don't think-"

" _-and his info is good_ ," Diego continues louder, not allowing himself to be derailed. Then he’d have to admit that Luther actually made a fair point. "Where does that get us?"

"Five might have a living guardian."

"That he didn't tell us about?" 

"He hasn't told us much of anything."

Diego takes a minute to mull it over. "I still don't buy it."

Luther grunts as he turns down the side street. "She's a potential suspect - or witness - regardless."

Diego nods. "Okay. Then there's the whole thing of Five being covered in blood hours before the murder took place."

Luther pulls the cop car onto the Hargreeves' previously manicured lawn - Diego can't help but smile. Bent grass is the sort of shit that would drive a sitcom rich old man up the wall, and their victim pretty nicely fills out that picture, at least from what they know so far. 

Luther takes no notice of his incidental petty vandalism, continuing Diego’s original line of reasoning. "Which begs the question of whose blood it was, if it wasn't Five's." Luther turns off the engine, and the two bail out of the car.

"Some of it could've been from that nosebleed," Diego thinks aloud, "but all of it? No way, there was too much. And if we believed Elliott, that means the kid had more blood on him to start with."

"Right." Luther picks up his pace suddenly, reaching the door first. He steps inside and holds the door open for Diego. "We need to question Five more."

Diego quickly agrees and enters. "Maybe we can let your girlfriend ask him."

"Allison isn't my girlfriend. She's on a break from dating anyone. You know this, Diego." Luther closes the door with a _thud_ , more for emphasis than anything else, Diego suspects.

"Then maybe stop making heart-eyes every time she's in the room." They match pace rather easily as they head toward the study.

"You mean the eyes you make at Patch?"

The fact Luther is returning the jabs throws Diego a little off-guard. The teasing registers as friendly immediately, somehow surpassing Diego's usual urge to assume Luther's up to no good. But still, he's used to making the remarks, not receiving them. "Hey, that is _Detective_ Patch to you," he manages to squeak out. And yeah, Diego might speed up, but that’s only because he needs to hurry up and find Klaus, and it has nothing to do with the fact Eudora and him were still in that weird we've-broken-up-but-the-sexual-tension-is-so-thick-we-could-cut-it-with-a-knife zone.

Inside the study, Klaus is draped over one of the chairs, lazily filling out some form or another. There’s a taped outline where the body once was and several numbered markers at different points in the room. And inspecting one such marker with gloved hands is a familiar raven haired boy.

"Five?" The boy's head turns, and yep, no doubt about it, it’s the gremlin himself. "I told you to stay at the apartment."

The boy in question moves to examining the wall with a simple, "Yeah."

Diego rolls his eyes as he walks closer. Luther, on the other hand, moves to interrogate the other adult in the room. Full offense to Klaus, but Diego's confident that talking to Five will be more fruitful. With the kid, there’s a slight chance that he could get him to stop being a little shit - Klaus is already set and locked into his role as a free-wheeling agent of chaos.

Now that he’s closer, Diego can see the kid is measuring what’s probably a bullet hole in the wall. The few bloodstains in the boy's uniform are gone, so he either cleaned it well or picked up a spare outfit when he first arrived at this mansion. Five is staring attentively at the bullet hole, but even from this side view, Diego can tell the kid is squinting more than he needs to, his lips are pressed too stiffly together to be natural, and his shoulders, despite his best efforts, are starting to deflate and fold inward.

Diego chooses his words carefully. "Five, I told you to stay put for a reason." The kid gives no sign he’s listening. "I'm serious. You can't just run off every time you're left alone." Still nothing. "You'll only make things worse for yourself - do you get that, Five?"

"Nine."

Diego stares quizzically at Five. But then the kid turns around and looks over at Klaus. "It's 9 mm, both of them?"

Klaus pauses whatever half-assed response he's giving Luther, preferring to dramatically clutch several papers to his chest. "You _cheated_."

"How could I read the report from over here."

"I dunno - why don't you tell me, you dirty _cheater_!" Klaus spins toward the window. "Ben, did you sell me out?... No, hush, I don't wanna hear your _lies.'_ Klaus sighs far too loudly. "I have been betrayed - there are no good men left! Except the cute cashier at Home Depot, he's perfection incarnate - but beyond him: none!"

Diego is about to press his point when he notices the smile beginning to tug at the boy's mouth - he still looks distressed but is clearly coming down from it. Screw it, he can yell at the kid later. Besides, now he doesn't have to spend half his lunch break picking the squirt up from the gym.

Even Luther gives up whatever spiel he’s in the middle of. "So the bullets came from what type of gun?" he asks, acting like this is the normal way investigations are conducted.

"Likely just your average hand pistol," Klaus replies.

It’s Five who states, "That practically tells us nothing. Any idiot can get a gun like that."

"Oh, so you're a weapons expert? Buy a lot of guns in your day?" Diego teases.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Diego's hand instinctively goes to ruffle the kid's hair, but Five steps backwards, leaving him grasping at air. Five glares, but it lacks yesterday's intensity.

"Find any fibers? Footprints?" Luther continues.

"Just the victims," Klaus responds. "Well, Five did find some brown hair strands, but I don't think they were close enough to the follicle to get us anything good." Klaus raises his hands up quickly. "But-but-but, I am running tests on them, so you can save the "proper procedure" lecture for Tuesday."

"Anything else?" Diego asks.

Klaus gestures lazily at the broken window. A thin plastic coating had replaced the glass - Klaus probably doesn’t want anything falling or flying in and ruining the crime scene. "Most of the glass shards fell outside, which means it was prolly broken from the inside."

"So Hargreeves let his attacker inside," Diego theorizes.

"Or they broke in another way," Luther offers.

Their forensic specialist waves his hands vaguely around the room. "And this general chaos lets us know shit went down here. I'll play mix-and-match with the body and see what's consistent with his wounds."

Diego re-examines the wreckage. Splintered boards from some of the bookcases intermingled with broken glass from the window and what looks like some desk ornaments or maybe a small vase. Books and binders decorate the floor with pens, notecards, and looseleaf paper sprinkled on top. It certainly looks like an earthquake had gone through here.

He looks back at Five. The boy is fiddling with something in his pocket. The look in his eyes betrays that his mind is somewhere else entirely. So Diego tries to draw him back to earth. "Five, you got any ideas?"

Diego has to commend how the boy immediately scoffs, "Aren't you supposed to be the cop?" Even if his voice still sounds distant, it’s impressive. Five doesn't purposefully look at Diego until he finishes talking, and even then, it isn't to gloat but to scan.

"I meant, can you think of anyone who'd want daddy dearest dead?"

"Plenty." Luther does a double-take at the kid's quick but nonchalant answer. "He's charming with those in his circle, business associates basically, but otherwise he can be an ornery bastard. That can piss people off."

Diego asks, "What associates?" at the same time Luther questions, "What business?"

Five merely rolls his eyes. "Dunno. Dad kept records of them in one of these books." He gestures to the broken bookcase, spilling out at least fifty journals.

Diego presses, "So you have no idea what Hargreeves did for a living or who he worked with?"

Five frowns. "Diego, it would be easier to list what he _didn't_ do. I'm not going to name all his projects and who worked on what because, frankly, it would be a massive waste of my time. Maybe, and this is just an idea here, have some actual details about potential suspects instead of blindly hoping to have one obvious lead." 

Diego is about to say something clever and biting when an alarm starts ringing. Klaus gasps and fumbles to silence his phone.

"Do you have test results for us?" Luther asks.

“Nope, even better!” Klaus says cheerily, getting up and stretching. He walks over and slaps his arms on Diego’s and Luther’s shoulders. “You two owe me lunch!” 

Luther scrunches up his face while Diego rolls his eyes. "Klaus," Ape-Man starts, but the aforementioned man easily butts in.

"Come on, _I'm bored_ , and no one wants to spend their Saturday in a dead guy's house! Plus, ah, state-mandated lunch breaks are a thing, and you both owe me from yesterday: all I ask is a humble offering of doughnuts."

Well aware that "no" isn't on the table with Klaus, Diego grumbles out, "You're sitting in the back." Klaus gives a giddy shriek, causing Diego and Luther to wear matching grimaces.

Five doesn’t move as the others make for the door, so Diego slinks back. "You coming?" He asks.

"Not hungry." And no way that tracks. At best, the kid could've eaten the other half of his candy bar and maybe an egg, if he figured out the range's fickleness, which Diego doubts happened. Either way, hardly a filling breakfast. But one thing he’s learning about Five is not to contradict him - at least not directly. And unless it’s with Luther, Diego isn’t a big fan of lording authority if he can help it. If he’s gonna get more info out of Five, he has to build up some rapport. He needs a new angle.

How did Grace make him do stuff as a kid? Diego likes to think he was a fairly cooperative child, but there were times when, for one reason or another, he refused an offer that he wanted to take. Grace would usually smile and cajole him, make him think he was doing her a favor, rather than the other way around.

So Diego tries that. "Come on, if you go, I can pay for your lunch and Luther gets stuck with the Klaus’ tab of twenty-seven doughnuts."

A pause, then, "Is there decent coffee at this place?"

Diego smiles. "Yeah, the best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! Life got crazy, as it does, but I can promise some nice bonding in the upcoming chapters, which will, with any luck, be out soon. Thanks for sticking with me on this ride :)


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